Background Noise
by Godless Hippie
Summary: She's leaning her cheek against the bus window. The droplets of rain on the glass distorted her image. She looked thoughtfully melancholic. Her sadness was breathtakingly beautiful, you decided. You don't know her name but it felt like you knew her even before you can speak your first words. She's passion. She's fire. She's lust. She's Red in this miserable, grey world.
1. Chapter 1

_I was never capable of restraint. Not a fibre of my being would hold back; an unbroken struggle to stay afloat when every bit of sensation would try to drown me._

There were six varieties of coffee in your kitchen but you're still heading out to the café 15 minutes away from your flat. Your skin was paper white as you stepped out the rainy Thursday morning. You shivered as you walk, revelling at the rhythm the water makes on your umbrella. Soon you stop on a curb as you wait out the traffic. Your mind took off from the half-written book in your study as you glimpsed at her.

She's leaning her cheek against the bus window. The droplets of rain on the glass distorted her image. She looked thoughtfully melancholic. Her sadness was breathtakingly beautiful, you decided. You don't know her name but it felt like you knew her even before you can speak your first words. She's passion. She's fire. She's lust. She's Red in this miserable, grey world.

She didn't see you on the sidewalk but you saw her. And you will never be the same again. That Kerouac line stuck with you as the bus started to pass.

'_A pain stabbed my heart, as it did every time I saw a girl I loved who was going the opposite direction in this too big world.'_

The bus took a left and she's gone. You were still there, feeling as if life itself passed you by. You crossed the street and realized you frequently felt like that lately. You arrived at the café and ordered latte, then took a seat by the window.

You reached for a pen in your coat and a bunch of napkins that went with your coffee. You start to scribble furiously, your mind clearing, reaching for the right words to leave your hand.

* * *

><p><em>It's an uncanny habit to give my heart out to chaos, but the damaged ones had always been the most beautiful. There is majesty in a lionhearted lamb.<em>

You vaguely forget about her. You hurdled pass your writer's block and you had been writing nonstop for two days. You only halt for a meal or a trip to the bathroom. You don't sleep. Not really. The words won't let you until you've written them down.

You stay in your flat the majority of time. You only leave out of necessity; Stock up on groceries, buy new supplies for your study, a change in atmosphere. But there were rare occasions you go out to attend social gatherings.

One starless Saturday night, you put on an outfit. It's for an exhibit at the gallery. You knew nothing of the contemporary art scene but the artist is your publisher's son so you go.

You hated it, as you expected. Not the artworks, they were descent, but the socializing. Faces of different authors and artists went on a blur; they ask you about your work, you respond in a short, polite answer, and you ask them about theirs. It's clockwork.

'Ah Naomi, how's your novel going?'

'Still working on it.'

'Been a while since you've written anything new, is that right?'

'Two years, yeah. I'm taking my time on this one. Congratulations on the new novel by the way.'

'Ah yes, yes, it's quite fascinating what the critiques are calling it so far. _The Guardian_ thought it's a masterpiece that honestly depicts the struggles…'

You leave after an hour and you felt like yourself again. People do that to you. The night was dry and you walk to clear the fog in your brain. You haven't gone that far when a commotion across the street caught your attention. A man in a black car was arguing with a woman leaning by his window. They talked urgently, the man angrily hitting his horn before driving away.

Your feet stopped when you saw the woman's face. It was her. She cursed and hugged her arms around herself. She's wearing light clothing: short blue dress and high heels. Her teeth chattered. You had three layers on.

This time she saw you. Her eyes lingered because you were openly staring across the deserted street. You both held that position for a minute. She studied you, looked from left to right, and then crossed the street.

'All right?' Her voice was sand. You nodded. She had thick make up on. It reminded you of a theatre actress. 'It's 150 pounds for half an hour.'

You blinked. Wanted to give her your coat. But you nodded again, no questions. She was surprised you agreed at her first price.

'There's a place just a minute away. It's 20 pounds for a room.' Her voice was business-like. She had done this before, countless of times to be this nonchalant, and it broke your heart.

'We can go back to my flat,' you heard yourself say.

'And where is that?' You told her and she instantly shook her head. 'That's too far, I'll have to take a taxi to get back here.'

'I'll pay you double.' Her dark suspicious eyes roamed your frame so you added, 'for your trouble.'

The offer was too good to pass up and next thing you know, she's in the back of a taxi with you. The driver eyed you through the side view mirror. He didn't say a thing but his look clearly depicted his thoughts.

You stepped off to your quiet street and lead her to your flat, silently impressed with yourself how you're handling such a foreign situation.

'You're minted,' she observed as you stepped in the foyer. You shrug in reply. 'Where's the loo?'

You pointed down the hall to the right. She disappeared behind the bathroom door and you went to the kitchen to put the kettle on. You stared at the reflection of you on the kettle's shiny surface, trying to figure out the next development in this random plot you had set yourself in.

She returned just as the water boiled. She had removed her makeup and she was herself again, you thought. She saw you making tea and raised an eyebrow.

'Your time started when we got in the taxi,' she reminded you.

'That's alright.' You took out the sugar and honey. 'Tea?'

In your relief, she accepted. She put three cubes of sugar and a spoon of honey.

'What's your name?'

She shrugged, raised the cup to her lips and sipped. 'You can call me anything you want.'

'Your real name. I'd love to call you that.'

'Is this your first time picking up a slapper off the street?' she asked. 'Because you don't have to be polite, and offer tea, and pretend to be interested. This is not a fucking date.'

'Sorry. I didn't mean to offend you.'

She looked at you, clueless at what to do with your apology.

'It's Emily,' she admonished. It suits her, you decided.

'It means rival,' you said, out of habit. 'Emily Dickinson was an exceptional poet.'

'I know. The rival part I mean. We don't discuss American poets in class.'

'You're in school?'

She visibly stiffened at your question. You can see how she quickly regretted volunteering the information. 'Yeah. No. Maybe.'

'You don't have to worry. I don't mean any harm.'

'What are you?' Realization was dawning on her. 'Fuck me, are you one of those fucking head doctors?' She was angry at you for deceiving her but angrier at herself for not picking up the clues. 'Fuck sake, I should have known. I mean look at you in that dress, this place. The bloody books in the hallway.'

'I'm not a psychologist. I'm a writer.'

'Same thing honey.' she started to leave, furious movements. 'I'm not a fucking tragedy you can confine in a story. And fuck you for thinking that.'

'I don't. That's not my intention.' You follow her as she goes to the door. 'I've seen you before.'

The little piece of information stopped her from leaving, her hand stilled on the door knob. 'Where?'

'You were in the bus. I saw you from the street. That was two weeks ago.'

'So? First time to see a fucking bus passenger?'

'No,' you answered the rhetorical question. 'You intrigued me.'

'How?'

'You look like you just got your heart broken. There was nothing heart breaking about it though, just the idea of never seeing you again. You were beautiful. You still are.'

'Are you shitting me?'

'No. You had a yellow jumper and a green scarf on. It reminded me of Christmas.'

You can see how your words inflicted mayhem within her.

'I've got to go,' she said in the end, pulling at the door in a hurry.

'I haven't given you your money yet.'

'We haven't done anything.'

'I still want to pay you.'

'Keep it, I don't want it.'

She closed the door behind her with force. You don't follow her, don't think she'd appreciate that. So you let her go. Out your life again.

* * *

><p><em>Sometimes a chance encounter is all it takes to change your life forever. It is the most terrifying and exhilarating idea. My bones shake in constant anticipation.<em>

You don't see her for months and you fell back to your aloof and erratic behaviour. You didn't forget about her though, even when you were writing (especially when you're writing). She has stained your dreams in a regular interval.

Your third encounter happened in the middle of September, when the amount of daylight was rapidly decreasing, just like your hope of seeing her again. But there she was, sitting under a tree by the park. She's wearing enough clothes, barely a touch of makeup, her hair longer but still of fiery colour, half-concealed in a beanie. She looked up when your shadow casted over her textbook.

Cautiously you say, 'Emily, hi. I don't know if you remember me-'

'It's you.' She tapped her pen against her book. Agitated, you noted. 'Are you stalking me or something?'

'No. I wouldn't.'

'What do you want?'

'Just to see how you are. I was walking by and saw you.'

'If I'm still selling myself to kerb walkers?'

'N- no.'

'Look, I don't want your pity or charity for whatever the fuck you think I am. Just because you know one fucked up thing about me doesn't mean you know me. The idea in your mind who I might be? I'm not.'

'I didn't-' your heart clenched at how purposely hurtful she's being. 'I never passed judgment,' you tell her quietly. 'I'm sorry for disturbing you. I'll be on my way.'

You've made four strides when she called you back. 'Wait.' You turn around. She's biting her lower lip, her thumb clicking at her push pen rapidly. 'Come back.'

You sat down next to her, the ground cool against your jeans. She studied you before asking, 'Who are you?'

'My name's Naomi.'

'You're really a writer?'

'I am.'

'What do you write?'

'This and that, a little bit of everything.'

'Well, what are you writing now?' she insisted.

'I'm working on my third book.'

'What is it about?'

'I don't know yet. It changes every day.'

You can see she's still sceptical. 'What's the title of your two books?'

'_Down the River to the Rapids_. Second one's _Sans Soleil._'

'No shit, you're N. J. Campbell?'

'I – I am.'

'Wow, you're like young. I was expecting N. J. Campbell to be old, 40 at least.'

You don't know how to respond so you ask her, 'You're still in school?'

'Yeah,' she replied, closing her book. 'I suppose I am.'

'What do you study?'

'This and that, a little bit of everything.'

She grinned and the word _elfin_ erupted like fireworks in your whirring brain. You felt your knees shake with blind affection.

'Would you like to go to dinner with me?'

You surprised her. 'You're fucking bizarre you know that, N. J. Campbell?'

'I'd rather you call me Naomi.'

'Alright Naomi, you're fucking bizarre you know that?'

'So you tell me.'

You don't say anything else, wait for her answer. Her eyes conveyed a thousand words. _Intrigued_ won out.

'Fuck it. Sure, I'd like to go to dinner with you.'

* * *

><p><em>Your passion seeps through your skin to mine, forever staining me. It's a terminal disease and I lay awake at night for Death to take me.<em>

You had dinner in a pub near your place that you both never been before. She ordered the steak and kidney pudding. You had fish and chips. She told you it's her last year in uni studying Education. It was her English teacher in Year 5 that inspired her.

'I want to be around kids,' she said, sipping on her beer. 'In those formative years, it's important the world is painted in a positive light, that all their dreams are possible. I want to motivate them that they can be anyone they want to be.'

You nod, thinking her students would be the luckiest kids in the world. 'Yeah,' you say instead. 'They cushion the blow of what life throws at you.'

'You like kids then?'

'Not really. I didn't even like them when I was one.'

'You're right perky.' She smiled, the most real one she's given you so far. 'And you, have you always wanted to be a writer?'

'I've always written but it wasn't much later that I thought I can pursue it as a career. I'm just lucky my stories were deemed publishable.'

'Maybe you're not giving yourself enough credit. You had two bestsellers. That's well impressive.'

'Like I said, luck.'

'You're real shit in accepting compliments, you know that?'

'So you tell me.'

'You're not much of a talker too. I thought writers are always proper eloquent and stuff.'

'Sorry.' You duck your head. 'Am I boring you?'

'No. I didn't say it was a bad thing. Just an observation.'

'That's why I write I suppose. I function better that way.'

'Are we going to start passing notes across the table?' she teased.

You faintly smiled then reached for a napkin and a pen in your coat. She watched indulgently as you scribble something with your lethargic hand. You pushed it towards her.

'_Your intensity makes me nervous in ways I can't fathom.'_

* * *

><p><em>I fell for your smile. A free fall that cannot be undone; the hard ground swoop up to meet me.<em>

It was the fourth time you got together (she refuses to call it a date and you were never particular on labels anyway) that she opened up about her 'side job'.

'It's last resort when I can't make ends meet. It's the fastest way to earn rent money,' she smiled but neither of you found it humorous. 'I don't know what else to say about that.'

'You don't have to explain yourself to me really. You do what you got to do to survive. You are a survivor Emily, and I can barely call myself that.'

She looked like she was going to kiss you. You waited but the moment passed. She proceeded to scan your living room with the inquisitive eyes of a toddler; the lack of photographs and sentimental pieces were evident.

'Don't you have family?'

'I have a mum. She lives in Goa with her boyfriend.'

'Exotic.'

'She's rather eclectic, yes.'

'How about friends?'

'No.'

'Isn't that lonely?'

'It's lonelier being in a room with people you don't like.'

'You don't like everybody then?'

'I like you.'

'Why?'

Without thinking, 'My heart feels right when I'm with you.'

'Oh.' She played with her thumb ring. It felt like an eternity and a day when she spoke again. Barely a whisper, 'I like you too.'

* * *

><p><em>How is it possible that the more you unravel your imperfection before me, the harder it is to look away?<em>

She's impatient. She's stubborn. She has child-like impulses you find endearing.

She once walked barefoot from her flat to yours because she wanted to feel the ground beneath her feet.

On a Sunday morning, you had sundae for breakfast because she thought it was a funny pun.

Sheets of rain cascaded down when you were walking at the park on a Wednesday afternoon. You had an umbrella but she let the rain lick her skin. She was shivering in the cold but the sun was in her eyes. Burning. Those little pools of sunshine smiled at you. Gleeful. Challenging. So you stepped out your shade and felt the water drench you in an instant. You're Icarus and she was your sun.

* * *

><p><em>Sometimes you look at me like I am the world to you.<em>

You're scribbling random phrases on a piece of paper. Most times they were gibberish, just so you can shake off the weight of the words once they flow out your pen. But there were rare occasions that a sentence would inspire a paragraph, a chapter, a whole book.

Your hand itched as you stared at a phrase inked on the paper. _'I can only assume…'_

You looked up and she was watching at you across the table. She held your gaze, no shyness for being found out.

'Sorry, I don't even know I'm doing it sometimes,' you apologized, pushing the paper aside.

She continued to look and you felt naked under her gaze.

'You have no idea how fucking breath taking you are, aren't you?'

You looked away, the weight of her stare pushing and pulling you in equal forces. 'I'm dreadfully ordinary.'

'Maybe you don't see what I see.'

'Perhaps.'

'Naomi, look at me.' You did. 'You're beautiful. You're the most fucking gorgeous girl I'd ever laid my eyes on.'

'Cheers,' you said, cheeks tinged in pink. 'You know Em, they have a term for your condition.'

'Condition?'

'It's called beer goggles.'

She awarded you with a raspy chuckle and your lungs expand like a balloon. You're afraid it's going to burst from the pressure.

* * *

><p><em>Sometimes, some dark times, you look at me like I wasn't even there.<em>

A bulk of your days you still spend crouched in front of your study piecing together the splintered scenarios, fragmented conversations of your still nameless characters. Hers were spent studying and attending her remaining classes. Despite that, you still meet on the weekends.

But then a full week went by that you don't see her. When she called you to meet, she wasn't herself. A million miles away. Passive. Won't laugh at _The Simpsons _on your telly. The third time it happened, you saw a sizeable bruise on her forearm. Bile rose to your throat, realizing the reason why she can't meet you during those Sundays.

'I don't want to talk about it,' she said, concealing the purple spot with the sleeve of her jumper.

'But Em… I get worried.'

'Look, I'll be fine alright? I can look after myself.'

Even then, you already felt her pulling away. You can't stand the thought of not seeing her so you stop. It's selfish, you know, but she wasn't giving you a choice.

* * *

><p><em>If I bare my demons to you, will you try to tame them or run away in fear? Or maybe you'd reveal me yours and show me I'm not as broken as I think I am.<em>

'I've read your book.'

'Oh.'

'The first one.'

You feel suddenly exposed but you ask her anyway, 'Your thoughts?'

'Honestly?'

'Yes please.'

'It's a little macabre.'

'Hmm.'

'Not in a bad way, obviously. Lauren's character, she's a lot like you.' You don't comment so she goes ahead, 'She said love is like getting your soul ripped apart and being burned alive. It's a sinister way to look at something that inspires people to do great things.'

'There are always two sides of a coin. I paint a canvass the way I see it in my reality, gives the art authenticity.'

'So _Down the River to the Rapids_ is art depicting life?'

'I'd like to think all my works reflect life, one way or another,' you replied cryptically. 'Lauren's demons are more of a reality than fiction for some readers, you know.'

'That's why it sold 320,000 copies?'

'Yeah, maybe but I'm talking about the letters they write me. A few thousands, in different lengths and languages, telling me how they saw their self in her.'

'So you _are_ Lauren.' You shrugged. 'You know what I think about her philosophy on love?'

'That you have differing opinions on the matter?'

'Yes, only because I think…' she looked deep into your eyes. 'I think she's loving the wrong people.'

* * *

><p><em>These city lights are white-washing the textures. I want to go back to our little town, the silent glows of street lights, quiet stroll by the bridge, with you beside me, everyone else is background noise.<em>

Your third novel got published. Your mum called in crackly reception, telling you how proud she was. Emily came by with a bottle of champagne and made quesadillas in your kitchen all the while wearing a paper moustache. Shortly, you got a call from your publisher; you're leaving for America for three weeks to promote your novel.

You had book signings from New York to Seattle in a span of 19 days. It was always surreal experience to meet your readers in large numbers; all have opinions on your characters and their storylines. It's one of the rare occasions that you don't mind the crowd.

Distance and time difference separated you from her and it made the days excruciatingly long. You talk on the phone but the choppy voices and static sounds would amplify your distance rather than mend it.

By the end of your trip, you couldn't wait for another minute to you get your quiet life back. You're planning some weeks off from writing before you pursue the budding idea for a fourth book. You were asleep the whole time you were in the air back to England. You arrived in Heathrow at midnight. People walking around like ghosts. Their suitcases an extension of themselves.

You still sent Emily a quick text to tell her you're back despite the hour. It was three am when you're hauling your suitcase up the stairs to your flat. You're pleasantly surprised when you saw her sitting by your door, listening to her iPod. The brightest, tired smile illuminated your face.

'Hi.'

'I saw you on the telly,' she said standing up, her face mirroring your expression.

'Yeah?'

'26-year-old YA writer from Bristol publishes third critically-acclaimed novel in five years.'

'They make me sound like a prodigy.' You're standing in front of her now, her halo of sunshine warming you again.

'You are a prodigy. In author years.' She ran her hand on the fabric of your coat. 'How's America?'

'It's a beautiful country,' you said automatically and she laughed at you.

'Honey, you're not in a press tour anymore.'

'Oh, sorry. My hand also still twitches sometimes,' you share, 'signing phantom books.'

She bit her lip and nodded, her cheeky smile in place. Without another word she stood on tiptoes and kissed you firmly. Your eyelids fluttered close, your brain seeking out. But soon you realized not a word had been constructed yet to depict this moment. She pulled back and looked at you with tumultuous eyes.

'Emily.'

'Yeah, Naoms?'

'I always walk around with a hollow emptiness in me. I never fully understood the word 'complete', was never in a state of fullness. That rainy Thursday morning I saw you, I had a fleeting feeling of what it was like. When we met outside the gallery that lonely Saturday night, I thought I'll never ache for someone's pain as much as I did for you at that moment. When you told me your passion for inspiring children, never have I adored another person more.'

With searching eyes and shaky breathe, 'Why are you telling me this?'

'Because it's a sin if I don't let you know how truly beautiful and amazing you are. Sometimes you punish yourself too much for the crimes that other people commit.' You cupped the side of her face and swiped your thumb on her pale cheek. 'I'm going to kiss you now.'

You wait for her nod before connecting your lips.

'Welcome back,' she whispered.

'It's good to be back.'

'I fucking missed you.'

You groan when she playfully bit your lip. 'I missed you too.'

_I held you in my hands like a delicate flower. But maybe you weren't the vulnerable one; maybe you didn't care if you died tomorrow. Maybe it was me who will corrode, who'll be worse than dead once you're done with me._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Sorry if they're a little out of character at times, I just had fun with it. I originally planned this to be a one-shot but I might add one or two chapters. I'd love to hear what you think so far though, reviews will be very much appreciated. Thanks for reading, cheers loves.<strong>_


	2. Chapter 2

**I just want to say thank you to all the lovely reviewers, it was really unexpected feedback. Apologies I couldn't message everyone, especially the guests, so I thought to show my appreciation to each of you I'll just put up a second chapter. That brings me to say I'm so so sorry that it's taken so long. I am transitioning to a new job and took a language class on top of that so I've been busy a lot. **

* * *

><p><em>Silent companionship; that's what I was to you. Quiet rapture; that's what you were to me.<em>

You walked with her to uni as the snowflakes melted around you. She let you hold her hand. You gave her your full devotion as she animatedly discussed the pros and cons of two schools she's thinking of applying for a job.

She stopped when she thought you weren't listening. You saw her frown and you said, 'St. Michael's curriculum gives you more room to grow. St. Jude's pays better but once St. Michael's see your brilliance, they'd offer you more to stay yeah?' She smiled, reassured. Happy. 'Or you know, go to where the kids are less pricks.'

She laughed and it was an awakening. Like flowers on a sweet spring day. 'That's sorted then.'

When you arrived at the gates, she turned to you with a regretful pout. 'I got loads of preparations to do for my teaching practice. You might not see me until Thursday.'

'Good luck.' You leave her alone if she asks. A dull ache pervades you every time it occurs but she always made up for it on your reunion. Maybe you'd finally read the books you bought last week, you thought in consolation. 'See you on Thursday.'

A delicate kiss was planted on your cheek. Her lips lingered. It's moments like these, when everything slows down and quiets, that you feel most for her. You never defined what you are, and somehow you were fine with that; what you had for her run deeper than any labels. She pulled back, gave you the most patient of smiles, before walking away.

You watched her go, your affection growing strength in its silence.

* * *

><p><em>You still hold me at arm's distance. It's fraction of space in your eyes, but light years away in mine.<em>

You preoccupy yourself with reading and idle writing when you couldn't be with her, mostly. You attempt a complicated meal or two sometimes. You go out in hope for a sliver of sunlight but you didn't mind the perpetual rainclouds that hung heavy in the low sky either; a spell over your sleepy town.

You went to the local grocer shop on a hazy Tuesday. You've always relished on the banal task. The brightly-lit aisles and organized shelves. Your mobile rang while you were stocking on cheese. It was your publisher.

'You answered on the third ring. That's brilliant.'

'Hey Eve.'

'Huge news, Naomi. A company from America wants to buy the film rights for _Dirty Faces_.'

The idea struck you as surreal and the first word to leave you was, 'Why?'

'Why, you ask? Because the bloody book sold half a million copies in America alone. The offer was 200,000. That's US dollars love, but we're in a position to demand for more.' You expressed your hesitance. Money wasn't the concern. You knew of films that didn't do its original source a justice. You just did not want to head that path. 'Valid sentiment, of course. They'd probably let you co-write the screenplay if you show interest. But this is obviously a tough decision and I asked them to give you time to think.'

'Thank you Eve. Appreciate it.'

You agreed to hold out your decision. You wondered what Emily's opinion on the matter so you paid for your items and headed to her flat. She's probably not even home but you knocked anyway. A muscled man with fake tan and bleached hair opened the door for you. Your insides instantly coiled in hot knots.

'Can I help you?'

'Who are you?'

'I'm Sam, I go to uni with Ems. Who are you?'

You didn't answer the question. The nickname was already bothering you. 'Where's Emily?'

'Emily, there's a girl here!' He called further inside the flat after he looked at you, curious. A second later, Emily emerged from the bedroom. She briefly halted when she saw you, then rushed towards the door. Her eyes darted wildly. You felt sick to your stomach.

'What are you doing here?'

Your eyes flickered between her and Geordie Shore. You hated how close he was to her; his territorial body language. Quietly, 'Eve called. They want to make _Dirty Faces_ a film. I just… wanted to tell you.'

'That's, that's…' her words stumbled. 'That's great news Naoms.' Hollow.

'What in Christ's name is _Dirty_ _Faces_?'

'It's a book,' she answered him absentmindedly. She shook her head and seemed to snap out her daze. 'You should go Sam yeah?'

'But I thought-'

'I've changed my mind. Now please leave.'

'You fucking serious?' She nodded, resolute. He pushed passed you, filth pouring out his mouth. 'Bloody hell. This is a fucking waste of time…'

You turned to her when his footsteps blended with the noise outside. 'Who is Sam?' A cruel plot twist perhaps, will be the cause of your demise. 'Is he your boyfriend?'

You were expecting guilty admittance. Instead, it was shocked outrage.

'For fuck's sake Naomi, of course not. I… fuck.' Her eyes that gave you so much courage were cowardly refusing to meet yours now. 'The rent came up last month. My job at the library won't cover it.'

_No, Em. No, no, no._

'You told me you stopped.'

'I did! But I didn't know what else to do.'

'Why didn't you tell me?'

'Because you'd worry and try to help.'

'Is that too repulsive for you that you rather do this?'

'No. I'm sorry I-' Her voice was soft, remorseful. 'I just didn't want to rely on you for anything else.'

'What does that mean?'

'Nothing.' She wasn't quite there. Lost in her own thoughts. 'Just forget it.'

_That's the problem, _you wanted to tell her. _My heart refuses to forget. _

'No Em, tell me what you really mean.'

A pleading look from both of you. You didn't falter. She caved in the end.

'Naomi.' It was painful, the way she said your name. 'Before you, it felt like no one would notice if I disappeared forever. But you look at me and suddenly I'm the best version of myself. You make me feel so much that sometimes I can't stand to be with you. And I want to give you what you deserve but what if I can't?'

'You're more than enough.'

'Look at me, I'm so fucked up.'

'I don't care.'

'Are you sure?' Her voice small.

'I'm a little mess myself Em.' You smiled faintly, quite unsure of yourself. 'I love you.'

'I know you do.'

'Oh.' You stared at her floor. Your glass heart in her callous hands. 'Well I guess there's that.'

She walked up to you, wrapped her arms around your waist. Then she sent an irreparable blow to your fragile heart. 'I love you too, you know.'

* * *

><p><em>You find yourself in people, you lose yourself in them. They break you into pieces and it destroys you for a while. But you emerge on the other side, stronger. Sometimes, better.<em>

She was graduating in a couple of days. You accompanied her to buy a dress for the occasion. You didn't need one, you had a closetful for the high-end occasions you're compelled to attend. Networking, Eve insisted, but it's long been proven you're not effective on that field.

You sat on the floor of the spacious dressing room as she tried on a few dresses.

'Em?'

'Yeah?'

'Did you call your mum about graduation?'

'I did. She's not coming.' Her was voice neutral, an aloof air she now only rarely uses. 'Well she said she might but when I mentioned my girlfriend's going to be there, suddenly she had to visit Auntie Bonnie in Aberdeen.'

'Oh.'

A charged silence filled the small room until she sighed and looked at you through the mirror's reflection.

'It's not your fault she's a total cow.'

'Do you want me to-'

'Not go so she would?' She laughed derisively. You didn't like the abrasive sound coming from her. 'She made me fend for myself since I was 17. I don't care if she's coming or not.'

You doubted if your words could pacify the situation so you resorted to silence.

'Babe.' You gazed up. She was looking at you. A resigned smile to your troubled frown. 'I know you want everything to be better yeah? But this, there's nothing you can do.'

'Is there anything you can do?'

'I tried to fix it but she won't meet me halfway. It's been ages and really, I'm happier without her.'

You nodded, slowly accepting her truth as yours.

* * *

><p><em>I live most in the nights, you love me most on closed doors; we are both shy creatures of darkness.<em>

You had dinner at a fancy restaurant after her graduation. She was exquisite, her joy for the occasion made her glow in blinding splendour. After, you spent the rest of the quiet evening in her flat. Her iPod a hum in the background while you talked. She told you she's giving up her flat.

'Where will you live?'

'I'll move to a smaller one maybe. Or you know, share a flat with some of my mates from uni.' You nodded and idly picked on the fabric of your dress. She noticed your lack of reaction. 'What's the matter?'

'Is your mind made up?'

'Well… it's not like I have a choice. I can't afford this place anymore.'

'Why don't you live with me?' The air left your body as you let the question loose. 'I mean, my flat's got an extra room if you want to use it.'

'You serious?'

'You won't have to pay rent.' Her expression was still not giving anything away. You both knew you're in uncharted territory. Still you added, 'An alternative, if you want to consider.'

She set her beer down and inched closer, her front pressing against your side. Her eyes droop, almost shyly she whispered, 'Thank you.'

'What I'm here for.'

'I'd like to take up on your offer.'

'Brilliant.'

'On one condition.'

'Yeah?'

'Spend the night here?' You felt her lips on your neck. Languid kisses. Her hot breathe against your skin. Your mind that always wreak havoc was suddenly blank. '_Naomi_.' Your name sighed impatiently when you didn't respond right away. She pulled back with an unhappy pout; your lips curved into an amused smile.

'Your temper is quite adorable.'

'Is that a no?'

'No.' You held her by the jaw and kissed her with all you had.

Later, much later, you held her closer than ever before. In the dead of night, your heartbeats synced.

'You're so soft.' Her voice was broken, a hush.

'You are too.'

'You're so hot.'

You breathed out a laugh, shaking both your bodies. 'Yeah, my pale limbs are to die for.'

She kissed you and it was different. You can finally see again. You told her this and it was her turn to laugh.

'I love your way with words.' She moved off you and settled on your side. A lazy feeling of tenderness washed over you. 'Thank you for today. A year ago, finishing uni was just a step. Now it feels like a huge achievement.'

'It is.'

'With you, it is.'

* * *

><p><em>Incredibly close. You invade every nook of me even the rainclouds fail to reach. You're an anomaly I don't mind having in my tired existence.<em>

She moved in during a bright Saturday. You opened all the windows to your flat and let the sun in. All her possession fitted in a taxi's trunk. You watched her settle down in the guest bedroom across yours. It seemed backward, for her to move in and not stay in a room together. You didn't mind. Watching her fill the bare spaces with her trinkets put a smile on your face.

'You sure I can take this one? It's the biggest room.'

'I like my room.'

'Yeah, I like it too.' Her grin was suggestive and you found yourself biting your lip.

It was odd sharing your place with someone after a stretch of solitude. But she's a change you welcome any day.

'I'll leave you to it then, I got some e-mails to send. I'll be in my study if you need help.'

'Fine, thanks babe.'

You headed to the smallest room in the flat and sat in front of your computer. You're still in talks with the producers who wanted to buy the film rights of your third book. You were gauging how they wanted to approach it and so far, they were giving you the right answers.

She knocked at your door an hour later, informing you she was done fixing all her things. You sent your last e-mail for the day before joining her in the kitchen to make dinner.

'Your room alright?'

'It's three times bigger than my old one. 'Course.'

You had dinner in front of the telly watching a rerun of _Jeremy_ _Kyle_. It was raucous entertainment. Your flat was never filled with that much noise since your last relationship was in its final dying breathes. But this was happy noise and it made all the difference.

Later, she kissed you goodnight on the hallway before heading to her room. The following evening, she fell asleep in your bed recounting her treasured childhood memories. You didn't spend a night apart since.

* * *

><p>'<em>Is it wise to depend all your happiness on another person?' I ask you. 'An absolute no,' you answer, wisdom in your words. 'But love is never wise. It's trusting.'<em>

She found three different bottles of prescription pills in the bathroom. When she asked you about it, her eyes were already tremulous. You were quick to assure her they were your old medications.

'Why didn't you tell me anything?'

'A few reasons.' _Thousands and thousands_.

'Try one.'

'It doesn't even matter anymore. It was a long time ago.'

'Can we please talk about it? I don't want to trigger anything, I-'

'Don't.'

'Excuse me?'

'Don't treat me differently. It's not your duty to take care of me.'

'What the fuck am I here for then?'

'I mean-'

'You can't just give and give and won't let me do anything. That's not how we work.'

'I know that.'

'You obviously don't.'

'…I'm sorry.'

She looked at the bottles in her hands. 'When's the last time you took these?'

'Last November.'

'For how long?'

'Thirteen months. My head didn't feel right for a while.' The side effects were brutal, the reason you needed over two years to finish your third novel.

She nodded, left the bottles on your table, and went to her room without another word.

She didn't arrive at your door come evening so you went to hers. She was already in bed, the room dark. You stood by the door, an invisible barrier stopping you from going all the way in like you normally would.

'You're staying here tonight?'

'Yes.'

'You're still mad then?' She refused to answer. Your voice was calm but a war was breaking out inside you. 'Did you change your mind about me?'

'No. Fucking hell, why do you ask me that every time we argue?' She didn't wait for your reply. She pushed her beddings aside, 'Come here.'

You joined her in bed and she pulled you by the back of your neck and kissed you possessively. She was purposely drowning in you. You'd always be amazed with the way she freely throws herself into the abyss, how it reduces you into a speechless spectator.

'I really am sorry.'

'No more secrets. Promise me.'

'I promise.'

'Promise me and mean it.'

'I mean it.' You could see from her face that she's desperate for answers. 'What do you want to know?'

She hesitated but her curiosity won out. 'How did it happen?'

You shrugged, attempted an answer. 'Too many words unsaid. Too many lives unlived.'

'And… do you still feel that way?'

'No.' You entwined your hands. 'Because I know what I want now. And I have her right here.'

* * *

><p><em>You asked me what I loved most about you. Your eyes? Your nose? Your hazel eyes, perhaps? You weren't expecting it when I answered: the way you hold my universe together.<em>

She went home one day with chopped hair and in a colour you only saw on pictures of her young self. You were immobile with curious anticipation.

'What happened?'

'Thought I'd try a new look. The red hair's not really appealing for a primary school teacher.' She touched it, self-conscious. 'Don't you like it?'

'It's different.' Her face fell, wasn't what she was hoping for. 'But I like it.'

You were on the front seat of her evolution. A lost soul once, now she's discovering herself in the most beautiful ways. A phenomenon that rivals the majestic Auroras.

'Yeah?' Her face lit up.

'It's brave for you to do it and I'm very proud of you.'

She laughed, 'I just changed my hair, I didn't win the Nobel Peace Prize.'

She went to her interview two days later and came home forlorn. She met the other applicants and felt she didn't stand a chance. Your assurance did little to lift her mood. You didn't push, you knew it's a process she needed to go through. Still, the following days with her shoulders visibly slouching lower, her eyes growing dimmer, was as brutal for you as did it for her.

Midday Monday, you were watching a documentary on the telly. She had her head on your lap, pretending to watch it with you, when the telephone rang. She didn't stir so it was you who reached for it and answered. A sophisticated voice was on the other line.

'Good day, my name is Margaret Stein from St. Michael's Academy. May I speak with Miss Emily Fitch please?'

You smiled. Calmly, 'Of course, one moment.' You held the phone out to her. 'It's for you.'

She took the phone, reluctantly she answered, 'Yeah?' A beat, then she bolted upright. Eyes wide, blinking hard. 'Yes, of course. I understand. It's no problem.'

They talked for another minute, her mood drastically changing. She tackled you to the cushions the moment the call ended.

'I got it! Oh my god, I can't believe they gave it to me. This is mental.'

She peppered your face with kisses. You both laughed sharing the joy, relief, thrill. You hugged her, let her know you're extremely proud of her. She grinned and pressed her lips to yours. You kissed for a while then after, you got up and pulled her to the kitchen. You presented her with a cake that you bought two days ago; a simple message written on it, _Congratulations Emily_.

'What if I didn't get it?' she asked curiously.

The look you gave her was enough of an answer. You bit your lip, cheekily you said, 'It's still good cake.'

She laughed and the light returned to her eyes. Everything was going to be all right after all.

* * *

><p><em>We drag our broken wings through the dirt, searching for someone to save us from ourselves. We soar. We falter. We fall. We crash. But you and I, we're better. That's all that matter.<em>

It was never easy being with someone. Sometimes you fall out of love with the person. Sometimes you love them so much you had to let them go or it will destroy you. With her, the condition changes every day. She's so full of contradictions, just like you are, and you wonder if you're too alike to love each other.

She had been working at St. Michael's for four months. Her students adored her. She's good friends with some co-teachers that they even go out on the weekends. You were happy of course, you always were for her. But she couldn't seem to have those much shiny new toys without disposing some of her old ones.

You would wake up and she's no longer beside you. She was out the door, a ghost of a hurried kiss planted on your cheek. She would come home tired and you could barely talk to her. She was already busy with something, but never with you.

You knew you had to have an ultimatum, which was difficult especially if she didn't even have time to argue with you anymore. But your tipping point did arrive on a Wednesday afternoon. She went home, her keys clunking tiredly at the coffee table.

'Hey.'

You're sitting by the window reading a book. 'Hi. How was your day?'

'Fine. I'll go get change.'

That's the extent of the conversation you'd been having. She went to her room but came back after a minute. She noticed the packed suitcase by your bedroom door and asked you about it. Her obliviousness you were expecting, but the pain that hit you was a thousand times more brutal in reality.

Without looking up from your book, 'I'm going to London. I told you about it four times.'

'What I-' she was confused. 'I thought that won't be after your birthday.'

You turned a page on your book. 'It is. My birthday was yesterday.' You looked up after a moment. The impact of your words evident on her features. All those times she neglected you seemed to playback in her memory.

'Fuck.' She approached you, armed with her guilty apologies. 'Naomi-'

'Don't.' You stood up, not wanting any of it.

'But-' you shook your head and she paused. She looked at her hands, seeking. 'What do you want me to do?'

You've been here before. The dying process. But you already exhausted every star wishing it would never reach this point with her.

'Let me go to London. It'll give you time to think.'

'There's nothing I have to think about.'

'There is Em.' The brutal truth. 'We're not alright.'

She looked at you with pleading eyes, 'Don't say that.'

'I have to.' A sad smile. 'I don't want to demand a sliver of your time if you don't want to give it anymore.'

'I'm sorry if I've been busy, you know how parents could be when it comes to their children. And Margaret, I don't want to disappoint her for choosing me over the others.'

'I know that. But… I need you too.'

'You have it.' A silent conviction. 'You have my time.'

'Thank you.' But you knew it wasn't enough to fix the damage. 'The thing is, I shouldn't be asking you for it.'

'You're still leaving, aren't you?'

You nodded and her eyes darted wildly. Unsure. But at the end she nodded back, 'OK.'

You left the next day. The goodbye kiss lacked the emphatic emotions that would engulf two lovers parting. The gazed you both held as the taxi drove away, her standing on the pavement, was missing the familiar ache that goes with leaving her.

In London, you welcomed the distraction. You've finally sold the rights to _Dirty_ _Faces_ and the contract signing was the next day. You arrived at the publishing house and were shocked to see a familiar face at the lobby.

'Michelle.'

'Naomi.'

Her sun-kissed skin and curly locks. Her arresting eyes and easy smile. She hasn't changed a bit from the last time you saw her three years ago at a busy Heathrow Airport.

'What are you doing here? I thought you're in Spain.'

You spent one winter together. She was pleasant, free-spirited. Then she told you one day that she was sick of the cold and wanted to move to Seville. The sun. The history. The language. She wanted to experience that. She asked you to come with her but you didn't. You liked the dark weather.

You let her go, understanding her desire to see the world. Despite that, she was still part of your past that didn't break you into a thousand pieces. You still remember her last words before she disappeared in your life. _Adios, amor, adios_.

'I'm the screenwriter,' she simply said, her smile bright. 'I love this one the most by the way. Heart-breaking, reminds me of a Nabokov. I'm quite surprised you decided to sell the rights. Knowing you, you like to keep things private.'

She smiled wider, her eyes had a knowing glint. Her long eyelashes, graceful as she blinked. It brought you back to the intimacy you had with this person, the sleepless nights you spent with her. How she had a piece of your soul. You felt yourself blush. 'Thank you.'

She asked you to lunch after the signing. You briefly thought of Emily, then accepted.

'Are you single?' She had always been straight to the point.

'No.' You felt guilty all of a sudden. 'Her name's Emily.'

She seemed unfazed by your revelation and looked at you thoughtfully, 'And does she… understands you?' _Like I do. _She didn't say it, but it was the point of the question.

'Not always. But she makes me happy.'

'You don't seem so happy now.'

'Couples fight.'

'I see.' Her words sceptic. She took a sip of her wine. 'We didn't fight, did we?'

'No,' you agreed.

'I'm staying at the Marriott. Eve mentioned you're staying there too.' You silently nodded. 'I'm hoping you'd sign my copies of your books? They're in my room.'

'OK but… that would only be it.'

'We'll see.'

You counted how many times Emily broke your heart. When she didn't have time to tell you about her day anymore; it always had been the highlight of yours, to listen to her stories. When she chose to go out with her new friends over a quiet evening with you, you pretended to be fine with it but it was truly picking you apart. How it left you craving for attention. Now, Michelle was giving it to you.

You finished your meal and walked to your hotel. She was holding on to your arm while she told you about her days in Seville. You found yourself hanging on to her every word. It's been a while since someone gave you that much sentences so you made sure you didn't miss anything.

You walked into the hotel's lobby and she asked you, 'I'm at the sixth floor, you want to go to your room first before you come to mine?'

'No, it's fine.'

As you headed to the elevators, you saw her and your guts recoiled. She approached you, her eyes darting between you and Michelle.

'What's the matter?' Michelle asked when you stopped walking. That's when she noticed her standing there. She was quick to piece it together. 'My goodness, Naomi is this Emily?'

'Yeah… yeah she is.'

'Hi I'm Michelle,' her voice cheerful, shockingly genuine. 'Naomi told me so much about you.'

'Hi,' her raspy tone clipped. 'I never heard of you before.'

Michelle smiled regally despite the cold reply, 'You know how Naomi is, always the private one.'

Emily's eyes lingered back at you, silently agreeing.

Michelle squeezed your arm, 'You can sign my books at another time, I think you two need some time to talk.' She kissed your cheek, then turned to Emily, 'It was great meeting you.'

You watched her walk away and realized that you hadn't exchange a word with Emily in the entirety of the conversation.

'Why are you here?' you asked her.

'I couldn't sleep last night… missing you…' she dropped her eyes, almost shy for admitting it. Then she chuckled, as if remembering a fond memory. But when she looked up, her eyes were hollow. 'I suppose it's safe to say that you don't feel the same.'

You didn't want having the conversation at a crowded lobby so you coaxed her towards a vacant elevator. Only when you were finally in your room that you answered her, 'You can't say that to me.'

'Why not?' she started pacing, agitated.

'Because this has nothing to do with distance. You were there every night and I couldn't reach you still. I've been missing you for a long time Emily.'

She briefly stopped pacing but she was determined for a fight. 'Yeah? And what about Michelle? Holding you and kissing you like you fucking belong to her. I felt like you were the real couple and I was being intrusive!'

'We weren't doing anything.' You sighed and flopped down the bed. 'I wouldn't do that to you.'

She scoffed, 'You looked so fucking guilty Naomi.'

You looked out the window. The sun was already setting in this beautiful lonely city and you felt empty inside. Choosing to be honest, 'She was giving me her full attention. You deprived me of that so I took it. Even only for a few minutes, just so I don't feel like I'm invisible.' You return your gaze to her. 'But really Em, if you think I'd rather have someone else, then you've never been more wrong.'

Her features softened. She stood there unmoving for a minute, suspended in her own thoughts. Then she walked over and sat beside you. Her arms wrapped around your waist, her head on your shoulder. Your hand rested on her leg. You stayed like that until the room was washed over by darkness.

'One of my students, Charlie, do you remember Charlie?' her voice was a whisper, her words intended only for you.

'Chipped Tooth Charlie? Yeah I remember him.'

'I taught the children to sing the national anthem a week ago and he was really struggling. He finally got to sing it properly yesterday.'

'That's nice.'

'It is. I'm very proud of him.' Your hand glided on her thigh. She inhaled a breathe and snuggled further into you. 'How was your day?'

'Signed the contract. They'll start filming next month.'

'That's great, congratulations.'

'Thank you.'

'Any idea who's going to play you in the film?' her voice was teasing.

'I'm not in the book,' you told her but she hummed stubbornly. 'But I heard Kate Winslet might be in it.'

She squealed excitedly. Your mild and loving heart seemed to repair from the sound. She looked at you. Through the darkness, you saw her tongue dart out to wet her lips. You felt a familiar tug on your stomach.

'I haven't tasted you in a long time,' her voice was husk and you swallowed audibly.

'I miss the way you say my name when you come,' you retaliate and she laughed before pulling you for a bruising kiss.

'_I will remember the kisses | Our lips raw with love | And how you gave me | everything you had | and how I | offered you what was left of | me.'_

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you for reading, and again reviews will be very much appreciated. Much love to everyone.<strong>


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